


Bedside Manner

by asphaltcowgrrl



Series: Drabbles Without Homes [1]
Category: Common Law
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphaltcowgrrl/pseuds/asphaltcowgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wes isn't feeling well and Travis takes it upon himself to care for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedside Manner

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this:
> 
> Write for ten minutes on the subject: congestion
> 
> Gross, eh?

Wes hated being sick.  Hated it.  As Kendall was fond of saying, “It sucked big fat man hooters.”  (As if that was a visual he needed when he was already queasy.)  A coughing fit wracked his slim frame, causing him to reach for the box of Kleenex by his bedside.  Whatever he had managed to come down with this time could go the hell away anytime.  Every time he coughed, he felt like he was hacking up half a lung.  More gook came up every time he did and it was beginning to gross him out.    

He’d forced himself out of bed that morning, into a suit, and out the door precisely on time.  But seven and three quarters minutes after arriving at the precinct, he found himself being drug right back out.  Travis on one arm, Kate on the other.  Travis had taken his keys out of his hand and told him in no uncertain terms that he was taking him home, putting him to bed, and making sure he stayed there for the duration.  Kate acted as accomplice by following them back to the hotel and waiting to take Travis back to work after.

Travis had kept his keys, too.

Even as sick as he was, he hated them both for their interference.  He’d have been fine, they just would have had to move at a slower pace is all.  Who was he kidding?  They’d have been moving at a crawl, but he’d never admit that to Marks or anyone else.  Angrily, he flipped stations on the television, remembering exactly why he hated daytime TV in the first place. 

 

Wes must’ve slept because he remembered nothing else until he woke up, a pounding ringing in his ears.  It took a moment before his sickness addled brain reconciled the sound with that of someone beating on his front door.  Looking around desperately, he realized he was at home.  In bed.  In the middle of the day.  Wearily, he pulled himself to his feet and stumbled out into the living room of his hotel suite.

Assorted mumbled curses floated into the room from outside the door.  A click followed and the door flung itself open.  Travis’ stern countenance followed through the door, a look of fear riding his features.  “Jesus Christ, Wes.  Why didn’t you answer when I knocked?”

Wes looked at his feet – they were bare, he noticed – and again was reminded that he was not at work like he should be, that he was at home in nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms.  “I… I don’t actually know, Travis.”

The other man blinked, uncertain, before moving to his partner’s side.  “Come on, you’re still not well.  Back to bed.”

Travis led Wes into the bedroom, pushed him into a sitting position on the pristine sheets.  He lifted the blonde’s feet until they, too, rested on the sheets, and then covered his entire lower body with the blankets.  Wes swatted him away feebly, protesting that he was just fine, damnit. 

“Man, I hate to break it to you, but you’re anything _but_ fine.”

“It’s just a little congestion,” he protested before falling back to sleep.

He refused to leave his partner’s side after that.  Wes was entirely too sick to be alone and yet, he fought like a stubborn mule against seeing a doctor.  Travis eventually called the only person he knew who might be able to help – Jonelle.  Yeah, she was the coroner, but she was also still a doctor, right?

“You do know,” she said sarcastically into the phone, “that all of my patients are dead.”

“I know, I know,” he assured her, “but I’m worried and he won’t go to the doctor.  Damn near cleaned my clock just trying to get him into bed.”

“Haven’t I told you that you aren’t his type?”

“Ha, ha, Jonelle.  Now help me.  I swear, his chest is rattling every time he breathes.”

She was quiet a moment.  “That’s not good.  If he’s not better in the morning, call me and we’ll both strong arm him into the doctor.  It might be something simple like a cold, but if left untreated, it could become much worse.”

“So, what do I do?” 

“A hot shower would be best, but if he’s out cold, vapor rub is your next best thing.” 

He swore she chuckled as she said that.  Travis wasn’t sure if she was more amused by the thought of the two of them showering together or the idea of him rubbing minty goop all over Wes’ very pale chest.  Either way, she had helped him, so he couldn’t yell.  Yet.

“Thanks, Jonelle.  I’ll have to see if he has any.”

“If not, let me know,  I can bring some by when I leave this place.  Call me if he gets any worse,” she offered.

“Thanks again and I will.”  He ended the call and proceeded to rummage through Wes’ medicine cabinet.  Toothpaste, aspirin, mouthwash, and dental floss were the only things on the shelves.  Wait, there, behind the shaving cream maybe?  Ah-hah!  Travis scored a small jar of methol rub and took it back into the bedroom with him.  “Sorry man,” he apologized, dipping his fingers into the goo, “never thought I would get this personal with you.”

With two fingers, he smeared the smelly crap all over his partner’s mostly hairless chest.  Working in small circles, starting at his breastbone and working outwards, he covered Wes’ skin with the rub.  Travis wrinkled his nose as the stinging scent reached his nostrils.  Reminding himself that this was for the good of the partnership, he forced himself to finish.  A hint of color on the edge of Wes’ left shoulder caught his attention just as he swiped the last bit of rub onto the lower lines of his ribcage.  Leaning over his partner’s still body, he tried for a better look.

“Why you little hellion,” Travis said proudly.  “You have a tattoo.  How sexy is that?”

He left his place on the edge of Wes’ bed and moved to the other side, carefully climbing in beside his partner in order to get the whole piece.  The tattoo itself wasn’t large, maybe the size of Travis’ hand, if that.  It covered the top portion of Wes’ arm, stretching from the shoulder to almost the middle of his upper arm.  Travis traced a finger along the lines of the angel’s wings, noting the detail in the feathers and that this wasn’t your ordinary angel – this one carried a badge in one hand and a Glock in the other. 

“You are such a mystery sometimes, my friend.”  He let his fingers linger on the bit of living artwork, memorizing every detail, wondering why he didn’t know Wes had a tattoo.   Once, he had thought they’d known everything about each other.  Obviously he was wrong.  “When did you even get this?”

It hadn’t been anything more than a whisper, but Wes answered him all the same.  His voice was groggy and drug-laced – what had Kate given him this morning? – but his answer was easily understood. 

“After you were shot,” he slurred, “I got it as a ward – protection… and a reminder.” His voice trailed off as his little bit of coherence lapsed back into exhaustion.

Travis knew that if it hadn’t been for the cold medications Kate had forced on him earlier, he wouldn’t even know that much, so he intended to keep it to himself.  He removed himself from his partner’s bed and pulled the covers up over him fully.  The ragged sounds of Wes’ congested breathing assured him he was sleeping soundly again.  He watched the blonde for a few more minutes before taking up his position on the couch – for as long as it took. 

 

Wes awoke yet again, unsure of where he was.  His head felt clearer, finally, and his chest didn’t feel like it was going to choke him every time he tried to breathe.  Experimentally, he took a deeper breath than usual, and when the coughing fit didn’t start, he sighed in relief. 

“You’re not quite out of the woods yet,” Travis said from the doorway, “but the last time I heard you cough was somewhere around three A.M. “

“What – what are you doing here?”  Wes looked around, suddenly frightened.  “Did Kate come back with you?”

Laughing, Travis shook his head.  “Nah, I came back last night – alone, mind you – to check up on you.  What  found was a very disoriented Wes in need of some serious TLC.  You look a hell of a lot better though.  How do you feel?”

“About a million times better than yesterday,” he admitted, running a hand through his sleep tousled hair.  “Thanks for staying, as embarrassing as this is.”

He waved off the compliment.  “It was nothing.  You stuck by my side after I was shot last year – refused to leave, I heard, until you knew I was going to be okay.”

“That was different,” he protested.  “This – this was just…”

“Just a cold,” Travis finished for him.  “Maybe.  But it could have been more.  And besides, isn’t it the thought that counts?”

Wes blushed a bit and nodded.  “Yeah, it definitely is.  And thanks for not letting me choke on my own snot because, really?  It was a distinct possibility there for a while.”  He pushed the covers to one side and stood, stretching.     

Travis made a face.  “I was about to ask you if you were up to some breakfast but now… ew.”

Wes laughed and it felt so good.  “Sorry about that.  But damn, food has never sounded so… enticing.  Let me take a shower and we can eat in the hotel restaurant.  They have these fabulous crepes filled with ligonberries and top them with lemon butter and….”

“Oh my god, stop it,” Travis demanded, only partly joking.  “I’m starving, okay?  Go get your pale ass in the shower so we can eat.”

“Yes, sir,” he gave a mock salute and headed to the bathroom. 

Travis could see flashes of the tattoo on his partner’s shoulder as he entered the bathroom.  He was still astounded by the fact that Wes even had one.  Doubly shocked by the reason he had gotten it.  _It was a reminder_ , he’d said.  Of the incident or of Travis himself?  He supposed he was going to have to wait until he was either this sick again – or drunk as hell – before he found out the answer to that loaded question.

He could wait. 

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure why, but I figured why the heck not. So, I created a collection for all my drabbles and bits unrelated to any larger works. Be on the lookout for more as I dig through my files. :)


End file.
